Page 54 of The Red Woman and the White Bear

“You have both met the captain of my guard, Niamh.” Laure reached for her hand and Niamh accepted the gesture readily, giving Aisling little more than a curt nod before turning her attention back to her queen. “And this is her brother, Tadhg, my artist. He creates wonderful paintings; he’s done my portrait more than once.”

The male turned to smile at Aisling. His features were softer, more delicate. The look in his eyes far gentler than the searching, accusatory hardness in his sister’s. “Wine?” he asked,brandishing a bottle of deep burgundy alcohol. Even his voice was soft. “We make it from summer berries just south of here.”

Aisling and Rodney both slid their chalices to him to fill. When his sleeve shifted up as he poured, Aisling noticed several smudges of paint that he hadn’t yet scrubbed away.

“Did you make any of the art in Solanthis?” Aisling asked.

Tadhg shook his head, hair swishing over his shoulders. “No, my art has no place in the temple. Someday, maybe.”

“Don’t be modest,” Laure scolded gently. His pale cheeks flushed pink.

The berry wine was sweet, almost sickeningly so, and left a bitterness on the back of Aisling’s tongue that was only abated by another swallow. She drained her chalice quickly that way and with very little in her stomach, it went to her head immediately. Still, the pleasant buzzing in her brain and the surrounding conversation wasn’t enough to distract her.

Aisling’s eyes lingered on the men at the door. Their faces were utterly calm despite the strain their bodies must have been under. Unlike the woman in the hall, she hadn’t seen either of these move a muscle. She had to peer closely to even tell whether they were breathing.

“They’re not here, you know,” Tadhg commented. Before Aisling could ask, he explained: “Physically they are, of course. But their minds are elsewhere; somewhere peaceful and beautiful. Like a sort of trance.”

“Why?” Aisling asked cautiously.

“Why not?” Niamh challenged.

Aisling bristled at the defensive edge to her tone. “Are they being punished for something?”

“Of course not. Their minds are dancing through sunlit fields or floating in crystal clear waters.” Tadhg was gazing at them almost wistfully. “How could that be considered punishment?”

“They make you uncomfortable,” Laure observed. “I will have them removed.” She referred to the men so casually—like objects. Nothing more than furniture. Aisling chose to refill her chalice with more wine rather than respond. Silently summoned, the blue pixie entered from the hall. She tapped each man gently on the shoulder, then turned and walked out. Slowly, without snuffing a single candle, the men crawled out after her. They left behind a trail of wax and bits of gray stone that flaked off of their skin as they moved.

“Darling,” the quilled male called from the far end of the table, breaking out of the Fae language to speak to Aisling. “You look terribly familiar. Have you visited us before?”

“Her mother,” Laure interjected before Aisling could answer. “Maeve, wasn’t it?”

Aisling nodded. The male thought for a moment as he drew in a deep drag off a clay pipe. The tendrils of herb-scented smoke he exhaled through his nostrils dropped heavily to blend with a swirl of mist that seemed to cling to his body. Then recognition sparked in his eyes.

“I do remember her.” His lips spread into a wide smile, revealing rows of tiny, pointed teeth. “She sang so beautifully for us.”

A falling sensation gripped Aisling suddenly, tightening her lungs and turning her stomach. It made sense to her now: the hoarsenessof her mother’s voice when she’d return after being away for days. The way it rasped in her throat when she’d greet Aisling; the way she’d drink cup after cup of honey-infused tea to ease the soreness. It was a small detail—in the grand scheme of her mother’s storytelling, hardly one worth remembering at all—but it jumped out of her memories now loud and unbidden.

“She stopped coming around, didn’t she?” He addressed the female seated beside him. His companion, a nymph with deep golden skin and leaves woven into her elaborate braids, stroked his quills idly with spindly fingers. Her features were so sharp they could cut glass.

“A while ago now,” the female said.

“Why is that?” When Aisling was silent, focused on keeping her expression from crumbling, the male’s smile turned sinister. “Ah,” he sighed. “The humans did what humans do best, is that it?”

“Enough,” Rodney said harshly.

“Your people are far crueler than ours; you’d do well to remember that. We’d take much better care of you here.” The male’s voice was like velvet, enchanting despite the chilling implication of his words. He took another puff on his pipe, openly enjoying watching Aisling squirm under his gaze. A loud scraping sound startled them all when Rodney shot to his feet, shoving his chair back from the table.

Laure, who had been watching the scene unfold with an amused half-smile, waved a hand. “Darragh, you’re dismissed.”

Darragh dipped his head, then he and the nymph rose and exited the dining room without argument. Aisling shuddered when she noticed that his figure didn’t cast a shadow.

Rodney, still standing, gestured to Aisling. “We should go, too.”

“Nonsense,” Laure said. “Sit, please. We’ve not even eaten yet; there will be no further interruptions. Only pleasant conversation now, yes?” She looked expectantly around the table until each courtier had nodded in agreement.

“It’s okay,” Aisling whispered to Rodney, and he sank back down into his chair. It wasn’t; she had to cross her legs tightly under the table to keep herself from jumping up and running out of the palace, but she swallowed down her discomfort with another mouthful of that bitter wine.

Though the food was fragrant and exquisitely spiced, Aisling could only stomach a few bites. The rest she pushed around the plate with her fork. She was grateful when a hob delivered a bowl of plain boiled meat for Briar—at least one of them would go to bed with a full stomach.

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